


invitation

by kiyala



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Graduation, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-11
Updated: 2013-10-11
Packaged: 2017-12-29 02:47:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/999952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiyala/pseuds/kiyala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire invites his friends to his graduation exhibition, but they're one invite short. Enjolras pretends it doesn't bother him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	invitation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [besanii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/besanii/gifts).



> Congratulations on your graduation, besanii!! ♥

Their invitations are a neat stack of A5 flyers in the middle of their usual table at the Musain. Grantaire is nowhere to be seen—Bossuet says he's busy with work—and so they all sit around the table poring over the flyers. 

They're all hand-painted. Combeferre is the one who picks up on it. They're all slightly different even though they aren't labelled for anyone in particular. They're also one short. Enjolras, who had not been as quick as the others to grab for them, ends up without one. He takes his phone out, looking over Courfeyrac's shoulder, and enters the details into his calendar for next Friday. _Grantaire graduate exhibition. 7pm._

•

It's not that it bothers Enjolras that of his friends, he's the one who hadn't gone home with an invitation. It doesn't. Not even when he stares at his wall, finding the perfect space for a carefully-painted A5 flyer, between all the others that live on his wall, digitally produced and mass-printed, Grantaire's contribution to their rallies, on top of his cynicism and joke signs.

Enjolras knows that when their friends are excited about something, he tends to stand back and let them explore before taking a look himself. Perhaps Grantaire knows this too. 

Perhaps Grantaire had purposefully left one invitation less. It's not as if they get along. It's not as if Enjolras has ever had more to say about Grantaire's art than, _yes that will do for our pamphlet_ , or, _must you really doodle all over the spare copy of my speech_. 

It's self-preservation. Of course Grantaire doesn't know that. It's kind of the whole _point_.

•

Nobody sees Grantaire for a week.

Okay. _Enjolras_ doesn't see Grantaire for a week. It's not like he notices. It's not like he turns to an empty space at the table, already coming up with responses to counter-arguments that don't come because _nobody is sitting there_.

Why the hell has the art department decided on holding their exhibition a week after exams finish, anyway. The rest of them are free, and Grantaire's absence is…

Well. It's conspicuous. In a completely different way to his presence, and nowhere near as pleasant, either.

•

"I'm so glad you invited us!" Jehan cries, clinging to Grantaire's arm, on the night of the exhibition. "Everything looks so _wonderful_ , Grantaire."

"I'm glad you came," Grantaire replies with a grin, looking at all of them. His eyes meet Enjolras' gaze for half a second before he quickly turns away with his whole body. 

It leaves Enjolras feeling cold and confused and—frustrated. It's not the anger that rises whenever Grantaire pokes at it, and it's slower to fade.

"When do we get to see _your_ submissions?" Courfeyrac asks loudly, from beside Enjolras.

It's possible that Enjolras just imagines the way Grantaire tenses. It's possible that it's not just his imagination. He doesn't know what's going on, he just can't shake the feeling that Grantaire doesn't quite want him here.

"Soon enough." Grantaire's voice doesn't even sound as openly happy as it did before. "This way."

•

The first picture is a triptych, and the paintings are very clearly of Marius and Cosette. The one on the left is of their first meeting, as recounted to them by Marius. It shows them standing across from each other in a park, and Enjolras can't help the smile that tugs at his lips when he notices the way Grantaire has subtly painted a ray of light falling directly on Cosette, as Marius had so insistently described.

The second painting is of them actually talking, sitting at a table that looks very much like the ones at the Musain. They're both smiling at each other and Enjolras remembers this expression well; they'd all been there to witness the gradual courtship and awkward as it may have been at the time, Enjolras recalls it with fondness now. Perhaps that was Grantaire's intention when painting it.

The third is a rear view of them, walking hand in hand, fingers interlocked, just as they are now. It's a simple painting, but there's emotion in the way they are slightly turned to face each other, the way they're watching each other. Enjolras looks to his side and yes, Marius and Cosette are giving each other the very same look, even if they're both blushing. Grantaire has a keen sense of his friends' emotions, and does an amazing job of putting it on canvas. Enjolras wants to tell him as much, but he holds his tongue, following the group to the next work.

•

Grantaire's second work is like a punch to the gut.

It's a collection of smaller canvases, all of them attached to a miniature recreation of a barricade. There's one canvas for each member of their friends group—except for Enjolras. Marius and Cosette are on this one too, as are Musichetta, Eponine, even Gavroche.

But no Enjolras.

He's not the only one who notices. Combeferre glances in his direction, eyebrows raised. Enjolras doesn't look at him, afraid of what his expression will betray if he does anything but stare at the piece with the blank mask of contemplation that he's mastered around Grantaire. He doesn't count how many others glance in his direction, not until he realises that Grantaire is watching him, eyebrows drawn together like he's searching for something. Whatever it is, Enjolras refuses to give it to him. He gets it. Grantaire has painted his friends. The people that are important to him. Enjolras isn't one of them. It's fine. Enjolras can't blame him.

It's _fine_.

"Um." Grantaire clears his throat and, curiously, drags his feet. "Last one. This way."

•

If the second work was a punch to the gut, this one makes Enjolras' stomach bottom out. The unpleasant twisting is replaced by butterflies, fluttering so hard that Enjolras isn't sure if he wants to laugh, or be sick.

Grantaire's third work is _him_. Enjolras, in his favourite red coat, a cockade on the lapel. He's wearing a red flag around his waist as a belt, and carrying another in his hand, holding it up. He looks ready to lead the people and, with a dizzying rush of wonder, Enjolras realises he's standing atop the very same barricade Grantaire had built for his second work. 

Combeferre nods, like this makes perfect sense. Enjolras wants to grab him by the shoulders and demand him to explain, but he's rooted to the spot. He listens to the others marvelling at the colour, the brushwork, telling Grantaire how good it is. Enjolras can't speak. He can barely even think, over the sudden rush of white noise in his head. _Grantaire had painted him_ and this canvas is—big. Almost life size. Enjolras takes half a step forward, about to compare himself to it, before he stops himself. 

Grantaire is watching him carefully, and Enjolras belatedly realises that everyone else has moved along, looking at the rest of the exhibit. 

"I thought—" Enjolras clears his throat, hating how uneven his voice sounds to his ears. "With the invitations, and your second piece, I thought you didn't. I don't know, that you didn't like me. Not that I would have blamed you…"

Grantaire laughs loudly at that. "Seriously? Wait, what about the invitations?"

Enjolras' face heats and he frowns. "I didn't—the invitations were one short."

This time, it's Grantaire's turn to frown. "What? I made one for every single one of you. Bossuet, Joly, Bahorel, Feuilly, Jehan, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Marius, and you."

"Cosette was with Marius," Enjolras says quietly, trying to mask the sudden rush of relief. "I thought… I'm usually the last to take things, and…"

"You thought I didn't want you here." Grantaire sounds horrified. "Fuck. I knew I should have made more—"

"You painted nine invitations while doing the rest of your work for the exhibition," Enjolras interrupts. "That itself is admirable. Don't blame yourself. It was stupid of me to overreact."

"You seriously think I don't like you?" Grantaire asks, lifting an eyebrow. " _Seriously_?"

"I…" Enjolras turns back to the painting in front of them. 

He thinks he knows better now. Or he _hopes_ , anyway.

"I spent hours on this," Grantaire murmurs, rather than waiting for Enjolras to give him an answer. "Days, actually. I wanted to make it as good as it could possibly be. I have to say, the subject helped a lot—"

"Grantaire," Enjolras speaks in a rush. He drags his gaze away from the painting, to look at Grantaire, standing beside him. "I need to kiss you."

"Need to?" Grantaire echoes, even though he can't hold back his wide grin. 

"Right now. Is that okay?"

"Is it—" Grantaire cuts himself off with a quiet, nervous laugh. "Is this because of the painting?"

"No," Enjolras replies immediately. "Yes. A little. I have a space on my wall. In between all the other flyers you've drawn for us. It's just the right size, and I was this close to stealing Combeferre's invitation—"

"You stick my flyers up on your wall?" Grantaire doesn't wait for him to answer, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to the corner of Enjolras' mouth before taking his hand. "Come with me. This gallery isn't exactly an appropriate place to kiss you the way I want to right now."

Enjolras lets Grantaire lead him outside, smiling so hard that his cheeks hurt.

•

"You know," Grantaire murmurs, using his teeth to tear a strip of tape from the roll in his hands. "I _was_ pretty fucking nervous about you being there at the exhibit."

"I noticed. I thought that was because you were hoping I wouldn't show up."

"I kept dreading the moment you saw the painting of you and decided I was a creep." Grantaire smooths his fingers over the edges of the little A5 flyer he's painted. He stands back, admiring it and blocking Enjolras' view of it.

"Come here," Enjolras mutters impatiently, extending an arm even though Grantaire is completely out of reach. 

"You're incredibly impatient, you know," Grantaire tells him, looking over his shoulder. "Has anybody told you that?"

"You, frequently. Hasn't changed a thing. Every minute you're standing over there is a minute I'm not kissing you."

"Well." Grantaire smirks. "When you put it like that."

He crosses the room, to where Enjolras is sitting on his bed, and kneels over him. Enjolras already has his face tilted up, to kiss Grantaire the moment he's close enough. They wrap their arms around each other, neither of them pulling away for a long time. 

"I really like you," Grantaire murmurs into Enjolras' shoulder when they finally pull apart. "Like. _Really_."

"I really like you too." Enjolras presses a kiss to Grantaire's hair and looks across the room, to his collection of Grantaire's illustrations, neatly stuck on his wall. The newest addition, drawn and coloured just half an hour ago, is of the two of them standing in front of the painting of Enjolras, hand in hand. 

("You know my theme for my works was love, don't you?" Grantaire had asked, panted, really, into Enjolras' mouth. They'd ditched the exhibition and ended up in Enjolras' apartment, in Enjolras' bed. 

Enjolras nods frantically, holding the sides of Grantaire's face and kissing him hard, then pressing kisses along his jaw, then his neck.

It's the closest either of them have gotten to saying it, but that's not a priority right now. That comes later. Not as long as it took Marius and Cosette, because they might be stumbling over themselves and each other right now, but both know exactly what they want.

And it doesn't even matter that when Enjolras says it for the first time, he prepares an entire speech, like this is another rally, another tough crowd. 

Grantaire just lets him get to the important bit and kisses him until he stops talking and starts kissing back.)


End file.
